


Feel Human

by supervillainesses



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: F/F, angst lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supervillainesses/pseuds/supervillainesses
Summary: Harley comes to Ivy on a rainy night, bruised and beaten but with a big smile on her face. What else is new? What a foolish thing to do, dream of Harley Quinn. Nearly as foolish as it was to dare to love her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another commission from Tumblr

            Was that a knock at the door? Against the howling wind of the storm outside her home, Ivy wasn’t sure, and, frankly, she didn’t much care to find out. It had taken her hours to settle into bed; tossing, turning, getting up and pouring multiple glasses of Schnapps, all routine parts of her nightly ritual, the keys to finally passing out. Most days, it seemed no matter how long she stayed awake, she couldn’t get to sleep naturally.

           Being alone never used to do that to her, make silence louder than the sounds of her greenhouse singing of their love for her. She was beginning to realize that Harley was capable of anything.

           Especially surprising her.

           “Oh good, ya here!” Harley smiled weakly. She was soaked to the bone, nothing on her person but the clothes on her back—a shirt two sizes too big for her, shorts obviously cut from old jeans, the pockets peeking out of the frayed edges. “M-Missed you.”

           Ivy closed her eyes, her nails digging into where she clenched the edge of the door in her hand.

           “Why are you here, Harl?”

           “C’mon, that a tone to use at ya best gal?”

           “Best?” Ivy scoffed. “When have I ever been your best anything, Harley? Get real.”

           “Wait!” Harley leaned to the side, to keep up with Ivy closing the door, but was too late. Ivy had managed to shut it despite the raging pain in her heart. “Ya can’t just leave me out here; it’s raining!”

           How _dare_ she? Again and again, she always came back. Picking, plucking, yanking, stealing, and devouring everything Ivy had in her. She could put up fences and set traps or chase her away in person, but Harley would always come back, and soon her gardens would be ravaged, nothing left over.

           Because she didn’t have the strength to end things for good.

           Sickness rose up inside her and bitter bile tainted the back of her throat. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely made it to the toilet in time. A pair of hands that were not her own scraped her hair out of her face, but she was too grateful for the help to question it as she emptied her stomach of everything in it—two apples and nearly half a bottle of alcohol.

           “Knew ya didn’t want me gone,” Harley sighed, her free hand stroking soothingly up and down Ivy’s back. “Ya left the door unlocked. Go on, let it all out. I’m with ya. Ain’t leavin’. Ya do this for me all the time.”

           Ivy sobbed as she heaved, all the while remembering all the times she had been in Harley’s position, and she in hers. It was one of those desolate moments, when Harley would break down and wail in their Arkham cell, demanding to be reunited with Joker, and cried so hard that she would choke and vomit, when Ivy realized. Her hands tangled in Harley’s hair, fighting back her own queasiness as she heard Harley retch and wheeze, she found herself desperate to overtake Harley, grow over her as moss grows over stone, as creeping ivy over houses, as the flytrap seizes hold of its prey.

           She wanted to yell at her. Shake her. Demand she pull herself together.

           And fold her into herself, to kiss her senseless.

            _Oh no,_ Ivy had thought to herself, _I’m in deep._

           Harley, in the present moment, rested Ivy against the wall, flushing the sudden and violent sickness down the drain. She frowned at Ivy, and Ivy knew just how pitiful she looked. She tried to cover her eyes with her hands, but Harley pushed them away. As she shed her rain-soaked shirt, Ivy was taken aback as she always was by the slender but angular beauty of Harley’s body; the skin was smooth, firm, and pale, disturbed by several scars primarily across her back. A chaotic clash of perfection and imperfection.

           “Okay, Red?” Harley’s brows were furrowed with worry as she used the wet shirt to clean up Ivy’s face. “Ya only get like this when you’ve been drinking a lot; what’d ya do that for?”

           Ivy couldn’t form words. Instead, she clenched her bottom lip between her teeth, biting it hard enough to draw blood, to justify the tears streaming down her face.

           “Not talking, huh? S’okay, I can talk enough for the both of us.” She stood and drew back the shower curtain, and began to draw a bath. “Piping hot, I know how my girl likes it.”

           It seemed, no matter the time apart, Harley knew how to handle Ivy’s body. She effortlessly maneuvered Ivy’s clothes off her body, and eased her body into the tub. Harley remained clothed, at the side, just looking at Ivy.

           “Ya go from cryin’ your eyes out to lookin’ like ya want me dead so fast, Red. How d’ya do it? Never mind, I forgot, you’re not talking to me. Lean forward so I can scrub your back.”

           Ivy nearly yelped when Harley’s hands touched her back. “You’re freezing!”

           “So ya _will_ talk! Course I’m freezing, I was out in the rain.” As her fingertips rhythmically tapped random parts of her back, Ivy knew Harley was touching as many freckles as she could. “You’re probably happy about how much it’s rained these past couple days, but I’m not. Hard to be happy about some drizzling when you’re out in it.”

           “Out in it? Does Joker have you running around like a prize dog again? Playing fetch and keeping you outside, off the furniture?”

           “I…didn’t go back…” Harley’s hand paused, fingers clenched around the washcloth against Ivy’s back.

           “So, Selina took you in anyway, against my wishes? I knew that cat couldn’t be trusted.”

           “I didn’t stay with Selina, either!” Harley started scrubbing vigorously. “I went to her place, and Selina told me all about how you’d told her to keep me away. She said I could stay anyway, but I couldn’t. If that was how ya felt, I knew you thought I’m nothing but trouble.”

           Eyes closed, Ivy winced, due both from the force behind Harley’s cleaning and what she feared would be the girl’s answer to her question. “Harley, where did you stay?”

           “As if _you_ care,” she muttered, slapping the washcloth into the water and squeezing a cold blob of shower gel down Ivy’s back. “Thought about goin’ back to my folks’ place, but really, after all these years? The streets are better than all the screaming and laughing at my face would be.”

           Cold unrelated to Harley’s hands sank into Pam hard and heavy. _Fuck_.

           “Been loiterin’ about Robinson Park since we separated. First couple days weren’t so bad, but then the rain came in from Metropolis. That sunny place can’t seem to hold onto bad weather. The park’s usually empty on good nights, but when it’s stormy, people take to the trees for shelter. Honestly, though, it was dumb to even choose the park, considering how much you love it. I guess maybe it was a subconscious choice, like I was thinking _I dare you to find me_.”

           “You slept outside,” Ivy concluded, her words forceful and curt. “Alone. In _this_ city?”

           “I figured what’s the big deal?” She shrugged, damp pigtails bobbing. “Ya do it all the time, Red, and I know I can handle myself. Did pretty good, too.”

           “Did good?”

           “Eh, a couple of guys tried to jump me once or twice. It’s the blond pigtails; makes ’em think I’m easy pickin’s. Gotta few solid wallops, but _buh-leave me_ , the jerks got it way worse. They could barely walk when I was done with them.”

           Against her will, the image of grown men—filthy, disgusting, _putrid_ men—laying their hands on Harley, with the intent to do things far worse than stir up a fight, came to mind. Ivy’s breathing hitched, and she closed her eyes against the knot of pain in her stomach. It would be so much easier if it meant she was going to vomit again, but she could not be so lucky. Damn it. It was _not_ supposed to end up like this.

           “Where did they hurt you, Harley?” The warmth in her tone was undeniable.

           “Far side of the park, nearest First Gotham Bank.”

           “Not remotely what I mean, and you know it.”

           “ _Jesus_ , Red. If ya wanted my shorts off, you should’ve just asked.”

           Harley did not have the right to wink at her, not now, not after what happened. And yet, when Harley shed her shorts, she couldn’t shy her gaze away. Eyes on her bare skin once more, she could see them now, the wounds newer among the scars of wounds older. Along her thighs, stomach, arms, so much of her was bruised.

           “Few kicks to the gut,” Harley noted as Ivy absently trailed fingers over the flesh sculpted over her Harley’s bones. “One or two in the back. It’s like guys think just ’cause they ain’t using their hands it’s not so bad, hitting a woman. Mostly, they tried to knock off my balance, tried to swipe my feet out from under me, but I jumped so high, Red. I used to be so good a jump rope, they had no idea. I’m strong, I mean it. I really am.”

           Sympathy occluded her anger, and in the moment Ivy—the human parts, the mortal bits, the weaker pieces that would always crave Harley—latched onto her, past transgressions forgotten. It was so easy to forget with Harley, one touch of skin to skin and it was as if any pain could be undone.

           Harley’s mouth clamped down hot and sweet on Ivy’s, so quickly and firmly it was impossible to know who started the kiss; all that mattered was that it was the two of them, participating, together. Careful of her injuries, Ivy aided Harley in shedding what remained of her clothes, and together they knotted in the hot water.

           A passionate cry of _I’m sorry_ filled the small room like a strangled prayer, but it was unclear who had loosed it. All that mattered was that it was the two of them, participating, together.

* * *

 

           Harley was always sanest in the deep dark at the end of the day, in the nebulous hours that were neither night nor morning. As much as Ivy hated it, and doubly would never admit it, but it was these hours, in the tender tiredness, the dreamy lethargy, that she was most honest. In the morning, she feigned forgetting, but never let go of these memories, of the words spoken between her and Harley in the dark.

           “I didn’t mean it, Red.” Harley sniffled, hands over her eyes. “Whatever it was I did, I didn’t mean to hurt ya. I just do things I don’t understand sometimes, I can’t help it. But when I can help it, I’m _sorry_. Ain’t that enough? Ain’t that important?”

           “I know,” Ivy muttered, her head buried in Harley’s shoulder. “You say these things every time, Harley. I know. I know.”

           “B-but I’m hurting ya,” with her hands off her face, Ivy could see the harsh blue of her eyes. With the tears shining as they pooled their, it was easy to imagine the look of a lake on a sunny day. “All the time. I don’t…don’t wanna…”

           “Do I look hurt?” Ivy scoffed, grinding the back of her hand into her tired eye.

           “All the time,” Harley confessed. “All the time, without even knowing, Red. I always thought that, since we first met. You’ve been hurt, you’re always hurting, and now the only thing that’s different is that I’m the one hurting ya.”

           “I’m not hurting, Harl.” She said hotly, rising onto her elbow to face her.

           “Then why did I taste nothing but liquor in ya kiss?” Harley sat up, her arms folded over her bare chest not out of modesty, but frustration. There was no room for modesty between the two of them. “Ya kisses always taste like mint and flowers; I didn’t want our first kiss after so much time apart to taste like ya fucking vomit and cinnamon Schnapps!”

           “…Mint…” Ivy massaged her temples, fatigue settling over her like a hot wet towel. “Gingerbread Schnapps.”

           “Even worse! Can’t believe you like that sweet stuff in ya mouth!”

           “Funny,” Ivy arched her brow, “you said the same thing with a totally different inflection about fifteen minutes ago, when you were pulling my hair—”

           “Don’t distract me!” Harley smacked Pam’s arm with a pillow, which was immediately yanked from her grasp and thrown to the floor. “Every time things don’t go your way, you run! You can’t drown your feelings in prissy alcohol, Red; ya have to _talk_ about stuff once in a while!”

           “Oh, as if _you’re_ one to talk, Harley girl,” the acidity in Ivy’s words was so strong she had to make sure she wasn’t salivating pure poison. “‘Oh, Red, I _so wanna_ go on vacation with ya, but Mr. J _really needs me_ right now.’”

           “Red…” Harley’s dark-rimmed eyes, smeared smoky black from having sweated and cried through her mascara, almost glowed in the half-light of the streetlamps outside the window. Those eyes, so bright and clear for someone so mentally absent and flighty, were what first caught Ivy’s attention that day they first met. “That’s just what I said…when ya asked me about going with ya on a trip a few months ago…”

           “Word for word,” Ivy said, scathingly casual.

           “What’s the big deal? Ya were just gonna go to the rainforest again! Forgive me for not wanting to get all hot and sticky in the trees—and not in the _fun_ way. What was so important about that? Important enough to remember my excuse not to go?”

           Heat stained Ivy’s cheeks deep green.

           “I tend to remember when someone turns me down for an expensive anniversary gift!”

           Silence fell over them, just as Harley’s jaw dropped open.

           “Red,” Harley kicked the covers from her legs so she could spin to face Ivy, unashamed of her nakedness. “What the _fuck_ are ya talkin’ about?”

           “In case it’s escaped your notice, Harl,” Ivy pursed her lips, her brows drawing together, “you’re the only meat-sack on this overpopulated garbage planet I even begin to care for. I figured having known each other for five years was reason enough to get out of this godforsaken piss city and onto a plane for the Bahamas to get some real sunlight for a once.”

           “Ya…ya never said…”

           “You never let me finish! Joker always comes first to you, Harl! Always has, always will. No matter what happens to us in the bedroom, Harl, you’ve always been my one and only f-friend. So long as Joker’s in your heart, you won’t have room for me.”

           Quiet, again. Ivy hated this. She hated that it could never be _normal_ for them, no matter the circumstance. They couldn’t have moments of serenity and warmth for more than a few moments, it seemed. Something always came between them—Joker, Harley’s attitude, Ivy’s anger, Ivy’s detachment, Ivy’s appalling and innate nature to simply _not care_ even though she wanted to, even though a peach-fleshed, bespectacled ghost in a lab coat screamed for it from the back of her mind. Pamela Isley in her truest nature, squashed down and withered into scarcely a memory, could only be heard when she called out for Harley. Shockingly, other parts of the whole of Poison Ivy, human and plant all, quietly sighed contentedly with consent.

           Harley was the only human weakness Ivy would ever want.

           “I’m sorry,” Harley’s words were like metal shavings ground into skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask, but I _ain’t_ apologizing for not coming to find ya. I thought you were still in the rainforest up until I showed up here and saw the lights on! I’d had it with being out in the rain, so I thought I’d just crash here while you were gone, then leave the place even cleaner than you left it when you came back. Kinda glad you _are_ here, now we’ve got everything settled.”

           “No,” Ivy said quietly, “we don’t.”

           “Ugh!” Harley threw her head back. “What now? I already apologized as much as I’m gonna!”

           “Harley,” Ivy breathed, her eyes trained on her fingers as she fiddled with a loose thread in the comforter, disbelieving the words about to leave her mouth were from her, “what are we?”

           A gust of wind brushed up against the house in a way that howled between the cracks and spaces. Harley shuddered; she didn’t care for thunderstorms. How could she have stayed out in Robinson Park alone, during Gotham’s rainiest season?

           “Um,” the red in Harley’s cheeks was so comely, even when brought on by embarrassment. She looked like a child caught in a lie. “You’re my best gal, Red. Best I ever had. I’d do just about anything for you.”

           Ivy closed her eyes. _Stupid, utterly stupid, what was I thinking?_

           “Can I curl up behind ya, Red? I don’t like the thunder.”

           “Sure.”

           Harley fit just so at Ivy’s back, arms and legs folding perfectly into and around her. It had struck her so intensely when they first met, how well they fit together. Thinking back on those old days, of sharing a bed out of a necessity for space and not for comfort, Ivy’s heart squeezed as if a hand was juicing it like a soft fruit.

           What a foolish thing to do, to fall in love with Harley Quinn, the girl who loved a psychopath more than her own life.

           What a foolish thing to do, to dream of a world where Harley would ever love her back.

* * *

 

           As expected, the greenhouse was thrown into chaotic bloom, as it was every morning after a night with Harley. She pressed her palms to her face, embarrassed by the whispers of the flora she carefully raised. Some teased as if she were their mother; some were so old they chided her as if they were mother to her.

           Ivy had no need for family of flesh and blood, with the multitude of plants around her. But the _lilium maritimum_ , coast lilies, called her bluff. They were particularly cheeky; Ivy had given them to Harley to grow and water as a means of giving her a sense of involvement whenever they were in the greenhouse. Having grown under the care of the clown girl, they bore quite a bit of Harley’s personality within them.

           When Ivy’s hands made contact with the soil around their roots, flashes of Harley’s face came unbidden into her mind. They were not her memories, but the memory of the lilies.

            _You need her_.

           They had relied on Harley to grow, and they thought Ivy required the same. Of course it seemed so natural to them; children always thought the presence of their own mother would benefit anyone and remedy any situation.

           One of the lilies bowed at its stem, the petals resting upon Ivy’s hand.

           “You foolish things,” Ivy scoffed, standing with arms spread out. “I can’t think like you. I can’t be so dependent and bound. I can’t _feel_ for her as you do. I can’t. I won’t allow it. You think a little kindness is enough to heal old wounds? You think that Harley Quinn, of all people, is capable of doing anything for anyone but herself? She’s terrible and thoughtless and cruel! The way she just throws…throws love around makes me _sick_. How can I— _you_ be special to her if she’s always thinking of someone else? She’s horrid and evil! And yet I still—”

           “Red?”

           Ivy turned, her heart thudding in her ears. She hadn’t heard her come in, but there she was, only a few dozen feet behind.

            _And yet I still love her_. The words wouldn’t come; the sight of Harley’s pain—the mixture of hatred and hurting and shock—welded her throat hot and tight shut.

           “So that’s what ya really think, huh?” Tears slipped out of Harley’s eyes, trailing down over her snarling face. “Ya think I’m so bad? Huh?”

           “H-Harley—”

           “Nah, you’re not gonna talk sweet outta this one, Ivy. All these years, we’ve worked and lived side by side, and ya always thought I was dumb, and evil, and mean. No offense, but I get enough of that from Joker already, at least I expect it out of him. I thought…I thought maybe…” She doubled over at the waist, hands clenched into fists as she cried, her tears soaking into the soil. “I thought maybe, after all this time, ya finally cared about me! I guess I am a fool, huh? A big, stupid, cruel fool!”

           Ivy couldn’t move. Shame affixed her to the spot, making the air heavy and the room seem to dim. Her vision tunneled onto Harley…as she backed away, toward the door.

           “Ya know,” Harley called from the doorway, hands still clenched tight. “Ever think maybe some of us hold back from saying how we feel because _the other person_ isn’t comfortable with love stuff? Ever think about that?”

           The trees bowed and swayed and shook as if caught in a hurricane, the limbs and twigs and petals and leaves, each and all gesturing violently in Harley’s direction as she ran. Ivy cursed, and took off after her. Damn that Harley; she knew she was the better runner of the two.

           “Harley, wait!” Ivy called for what felt the twelfth, chasing dozens of feet behind as they ran aimlessly through the woods. “Slow down!”

           Harley didn’t respond. Everything was a mess. The fighting, the miscommunication, the stubbornness, and all the time they spent apart because of it all. They didn’t quite fit together; perhaps they were just enough similarly polarized, fated to be close but never quite touch. Things would be so easy if Ivy could just let go. Her life would be simpler, plainer, less complicated.

           The distance between herself and Harley grew, physically and metaphorically. When they first met, everything went so smoothly. They had fun, and she could recall those times vividly; they were her favorite memories to relay through her mind every night before she slept. The memory of Harley’s smile, after their first successfully coordinated heist, that was her favorite. The unfiltered shock and pure pride on her face made Ivy’s heart soar with a feeling she did not then quite understand. Or perhaps she had, but had forgotten along the way? Maybe she learned this heartlessness.

           The funny thing was, each day with Harley she found herself searching for feelings that may or may not be there. Was not the acknowledgment of a heart or lack thereof proof of its existence? Was it not Harley that made her feel this way?

           So many questions, so few answers, but one thing was for certain: she wanted Harley at her side as she sorted herself out. Better to have her in her life now, with her mind a mess, than to lose her while waiting to set her head right.

            _Screw this_ , Ivy grunted and veered sharply to the right, _I know these woods better than you ever could_.

           Through a parting of trees, a trail emerged, making her footpath smooth and easily taken. She touched each trunk as she ran, thanking them for yielding to her needs. She could see Harley through the branches now.

           She lunged, side-swiping Harley from her feet. Both tumbled to the ground; Ivy wrapped her arms around Harley’s head to brace her impact.

           “Fuck!” Harley spat, spitting dirt from her mouth as she pried herself away from Ivy. She pulled her knees up, inspecting the damage from the fall; the skin was scraped and bruised and dirty. “What the hell? First ya hurt me, then ya _really_ hurt me? You’re a real piece of work, Ivy.”

           “Don’t call me that,” Ivy forced herself up on the palms of her hands, exhausted from both the run and impact of their collision. “You only call me Ivy when you’re upset.”

           “I AM UPSET, YA FUCKING PLANT!” Harley ripped up a fistful of grass and threw it at her. “You _insulted_ me, you hurt me, and what’s worse, ya couldn’t even tell me those things to my face! Ya said them to my flowers! _My_ flowers! The only ones I’ve ever grown. What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

           “ _I don’t know!_ ” Ivy burst out. “For fuck’s sake, Harley, I wish I did! I’m this livid bitch that can’t be bothered to feel a damn thing!”

           “Oh yeah, keep talkin’, ya helpin’ ya case real good.”

           “And sometimes I’m the woman you want, the one that lies with you in bed at night.” Ivy moved toward her, ashamed of the pleading in her tone, and ashamed of her shame in that. “You’re the only—the only—”

           “Spit it out, Ivy, I want to get back to the city limits by nightfall.”

           “Will you shut up?” Ivy snapped; anger was a good instigator. It seemed that only Harley could make her feel this way; unsure, teetering, full of doubt and self-hatred. But weren’t those feelings necessary? Were they not important? “Come back to the greenhouse with me. I’ll fix you up, and if you still want to go back into the inner city, I’ll drive you myself.”

           Harley’s eyes narrowed. Ivy hated that they looked pained. She hated more that she had been responsible for both the physical and emotional pain that manifested there.

           “No funny business?” She asked. “Heh. Look who I’m talking to here. Of course not.”

           They journeyed back in absolute silence, a remarkable feat for Harley. Harley fit snugly around Ivy’s back, the weight of her like a tangible manifestation of her feelings of shame and guilt and a myriad of other revoltingly human emotions. She was exhausted and sore, but she owed Harley this. This was penance, her righteous diligence, her flagellation and cross to shoulder up the mount. What happened when they returned would be up to Harley, but Ivy’s being was heavy with the anticipation of sacrifice.

           “You don’t look so good,” Harley noted when she was finally deposited on a bench in the greenhouse. “You sure you ain’t the one that needs cleaning up?”

           “I’ll be fine,” Ivy huffed dismissively, though her chest felt like it was alight with fire and caving inward, like a house caught in the blaze. “Wait here.”

           Armed with a few mason jars full of translucent, brightly colored salves, Ivy went to work mending Harley’s scuffs and bruises. She bit the inside of her cheek as Harley flinched at first contact of the medicines on her open wounds; there was no time for sympathy when healing, leave the cooing for after.

           She caught Harley looking down at her, almost piteously, but as their eyes met she turned her nose up.

           “Ya might as well fix up my bruises from those thugs the other night,” she muttered. “Since I ain’t goin’ to the doctor.”

            _And you want my hands on you_ , Ivy thought, suppressing a smirk. It wasn’t her place to think that now, much less say it.

           “Fine,” Ivy complied, putting more of the slick salve on her hands and working it into the skin of Harley’s hips and torso, without lifting her shirt. She would be lying to herself if she didn’t think Harley looked disappointed at her decision not to remove her clothing. “You’re lucky they didn’t crack a rib.”

           “I was born lucky,” she sniffed, doing her best to look upset.

           “I am sorry, y’know.”

           “You always are.”

           “I didn’t mean it.”

           “Red,” she finally looked at her, her eyes tired and bloodshot, “don’t lie to me right now.”

           “Fine,” Ivy admitted softly, and sat back on her knees at Harley’s, her hands folded in her lap looking up into her face. “I did mean it. But I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m a terrible person, Harl. Hardly a person at all. I’m usually cold and neutral and calculating, but you, Harl, you _destroy_ that. You take away my calm and force me…force me to be something _else_. It’s like I’m seated high up on the topmost branch of a large tree. I’m there, and comfortable, but there’s no life for me there, no happiness or sadness or anything in between. I’m just existing. Or, well, I suppose I _was_ , until you came along. Most people, they walk past, or try speaking from the ground, threaten to cut the tree down. But not you. You—Harley, it’s like my world was quiet and still, and then suddenly you came up from behind, and sat down beside me. For the first time in this life as Poison Ivy, I had someone who was willing to be with me for me.”

           Tears welled in Harley’s eyes, and she clenched them shut as she looked away, shaking her head.

           “No, ya said you hate me, you said—”

           “I _love_ you, Harley.” Ivy rose up on her knees, taking Harley’s hands in hers. “I hate so much of what you do, so much of what you are to other people, but I love every part of what you are to me. What you are with me. When…when you’re with him, you’re another person. You aren’t even Harley anymore. You’re whatever joke he’s written you to be. You don’t have to be a joke, Harley; you don’t have to be Joker’s punchl—”

           Harley grabbed the back of Ivy’s head and pulled her into a kiss.

           “Idiot,” Harley blubbered into her lips. “Love you, too. God, I wish I could just know what’s going on in ya head sometimes.”

           “I could say the same to you,” Ivy chuckled, carding Harley’s hair. “I want to show you something, okay? Give me your hand.”

           “Now?” Harley whined, giving it over anyway. “We just made up, Red! I wanna keep kissing!”

           Ivy rolled her eyes, and led Harley over to a long table littered with vials and beakers and a few Bunsen burners. Harley ran a hand across it and sat seductively on the edge.

           “Oh, well, I guess I s’pose could always be the _sexy_ assistant helping the _brilliant_ redheaded scientist out late at night—and out of her lab coat.” Harley waggled her brows suggestively.

           “You could,” Ivy chuckled, “but you could also hold your horses until I show you something.”

           With trembling hands, Ivy opened the cabinet attached to the work bench. Affixed to the small open door, were photographs. Some were news clippings of Harley and Ivy’s escapades, others were candid shots taken by Harley herself, or Selina.

           “I…wanted them somewhere I would see them most often,” Ivy stood, rubbing her arm with a hand. Goosebumps, of course. _Pathetic, Pamela_. “For most people, that would be the nightstand by their bed, but I rarely end up sleeping there, so—”

           Ivy was cut off by Harley’s tight embrace. She held on so tightly Ivy didn’t even have the ability to remove her arms from her hold.

           “I wondered where those old newspaper pictures went, ya big old softie,” Harley sobbed softly in her hair. “You’re so sweet, Red, even if I don’t always see it.”

           “Not half as sweet as you.”

           “This is true,” Harley sniffled. “I am pretty sweet. Speaking of, do you still wanna be the sexy scientist to my brilliant assistant?”

           “I thought I was the brilliant scientist to your sexy assistant?”

           “I’ll take that as a yes. C’mon, help me move these beak—” CRASH “—oops.”


End file.
